


The Love You Save (May Be Your Own)

by simplifyingforces (vigorousplasmids)



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3624336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vigorousplasmids/pseuds/simplifyingforces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of those I-can't-get-this-game-out-of-my-head-and-must-try-to-figure-out-what-happens-immediately-after-Winter interpretations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love You Save (May Be Your Own)

He thought it would be difficult to comfort her, but it came back like instinct.

She won't stop clutching his neck, little half-moons digging into his skin and it feels so good because she's here and alive. They hadn't had much beyond fleeting touch before this moment aside from the normal physicality of traversing the hellscape of post-apocalyptic America together. Now he wants to squeeze her as hard as he can, to feel and know she's actually beside him. 

She's too good for this world, and he knows he's incapable of putting into words what she means to him. It feels like a rising in his chest, something threatening to burst out, and he's channeling it into this bone-crushing hug. She's not hugging him back so much as clutching him like a lifeline. He can be that; he can. Despite everything, all his failures, he can do this one thing for her. But first they need to get away clean, while there's still time.

He gently pries her away, and surprisingly, she lets him. She's suddenly gone limp and blank and he panics. She can't leave him, not now. In a split second he's grasping her hand tightly, a desperate imitation of an arm wrestling contest or the way two skydivers hold on to one another in midair. 

"Listen to me," he says, staring into big green eyes seeing nowhere, far off in her own mind. He shifts his grip slightly to press harder and brings his face a little closer so that he fills her line of vision.

"We gotta go," he says as authoritatively as he can muster in a whisper. He doesn't know how close the others are; he can't risk the sound. She doesn't show any sign of recognition.

"You're stronger than anything, you just follow me, we'll get out of this hellhole, we'll find a cure." He's babbling because he's so desperate to see some sign of life in her eyes. 

"We gotta move now, babygirl." His eyes harden and he finally sees a shift in her vision; he's gripping so tightly he feels their conjoined hands shake. "We're gonna do this. I'll be there with you every step of the way," he says and she nods faintly. It's enough for now.

"You're strong as anything. Stronger. Now keep hold and keep your eyes on me." He turns and loosens his grip slightly so that she can keep hold of him as they take off out of the burning building and into the snow.

\----------------

Fifteen minutes later and they're finally out of the encampment. Joel had only needed to kill a few men, the rest already dead or preoccupied with the wounded. The snow had started falling fast and provided extra needed cover. He releases his hand from Ellie's to look for Callus or any other potential transportation, but there's nothing going. He can feel the sweat from her hand drying on his palm in the cold air.

Their best option is anywhere new at this point, into the woods and hopeful shelter. He turns to signal Ellie and his voice lies strangled in his throat when he sees her sitting lost in the snow, skin turning red everywhere she's exposed and face blank with lack of concern for her surroundings. 

He reaches before he thinks, gathering her in his arms. Before he can adjust her, she's grasping at him just as she did when he found her, cheek buried against his own. "You did so good, so good," he whispers in her ear. "Let me take care of you now." He thinks he may feel her nod in response, but he can't be sure.

He pushes off his panic and takes off as quickly as he can into the woods, trudging through snow with Ellie's body snug against his own. She's so light and her bones feel so fragile. The pain that plagued his side the whole way here is nonexistent. He can't think about the possibilities of what happened; he wouldn't have been able to survive this long if he couldn't block out the terrible reality of this world. He lets himself sink into autopilot, focusing solely on the task at hand.

As they snake between branches, her shallow breath gusts into his ear. His cheek is wet from her own and they're almost plastered together, but it feels right. She feels so cold and small and he can feel her tremble; her shoes rhythmically knock against his legs as they run.

He goes as far as he can in the opposite direction of where they'd come until they reach a small alcove in a hill. It's hard to crawl in with her in his arms, but he manages somehow. He's thankful for the swiftly falling snow; he doesn't have to try to double back, cover their tracks, leave her alone. He slides down onto the floor, cradling her head. She's quiet now; breaths gone long and smooth. 

"Ellie?" He draws back, the damp skin of his cheek peeling away, and she burrows her head into his neck. He wants to ask her so many things, so many that he's afraid to hear the answer to. He needs to know them.

"Ellie...did they-" 

She turns her head slightly from side to side. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He strokes her hair gently as she lies in his arms and he catches his breath. Her ponytail's wilder than usual, and he wants to fix it. Wash it clean of sprayed blood and brush it, put it back. He doesn't know if he can put it back.

After awhile, he shifts slightly to get more comfortable and she winces. He needs to know how much he can fix.

"Babygirl," he whispers. She squeezes him for a second. "I need to know what happened. Where you're hurt."

"Kicked me," she replies tightly, and she sounds more awake than he expected. "In the ribs. May have a dislocated arm from when he pulled me. Or when I fell off Callus." They sit in silence for awhile; his hands are itching to heal and to kill, but he knows she's not done yet and he lets the silence settle.

"They s-shot him," she continues, corners of her mouth turning downward against her will. They're twitching and he can tell she's struggling to keep tears at bay. "They just wanted me. _He_ did."

Joel doesn't know what to say to that now that the adrenaline's worn off. He's awkward and useless again. Instead, he tugs gently at her shirt. 

"May I?"

She shudders for a second but finally nods. When he pulls her shirt up to check her ribs, they're already bruising. 

"Jesus..." he whispers, and reaches for his bag. She's hindering his movement because she won't let him go, and he doesn't know what to do. His hand twitches on his pack, unsure.

"Joel?" Her voice floats next to his ear, so quiet for how close she is. "Can we wait 'til tomorrow?" He doesn't want to wait. He wants to fix her; he wants her to smile at him with clean hair and clothes. He wants to hear her clear happy voice and those corny damn jokes. He wants to hold her and protect her from everything and everyone in this terrible, tragic world. He doesn't want to fail like he's done so many times before.

"Anything, babygirl," he says instead. He moves his hand to her back and rubs in soft circles. She sighs in contentment and snuggles closer.

It's blisteringly cold outside and there's so much he should be doing, checking, and planning instead of sitting for hours. The cannibals could be looking for them; he could have pulled a stitch; she needs so many things he can provide easily from his pack. She needs so many other things he doesn't have a clue of how to provide.

He stays up all night with her in his arms and hardly moves a muscle. 

When she wakes up, eyes scrunched and puffy and wonderfully wonderfully alive, he knows now that he _can_ put it into words and it's so simple he wants to laugh. He _loves_ her. He loves her like it's eating him up inside. It's still scratching at his throat and pushing its way out of him so forcefully he can't stop it. He doesn't want to stop it. He can't let her go, not ever. 

When her hand grasps his and she pulls herself to full wakefulness, she whispers his name questioningly, like she can't believe he's conscious and here with her. His heart breaks to think of the long lonely nights she survived alone.

"Right here, always," he replies, and it feels so good, so right to let it out and let go. She smiles back at him so bright he's forgotten the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Joe Tex's song of the same name, known best from its use in Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof.


End file.
